


The Peculiar

by Balloondragons



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, The Peculiars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9588239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balloondragons/pseuds/Balloondragons
Summary: The Peculiar's are a rather strange family, anyone could see that. But when they move to a new - usually dreary - town into the huge, apparently sentient, castle; it's even more visible.With an insistent real estate agent questioning their unscheduled arrival, a talking moon, a bite, an uncle visiting from 'out of town', a past that screams "bloody murder" and a whole lot of normal forced into a whole lot of weird, things take an even more peculiar turn - for better or for worse.





	1. we shall see

An old, wrinkled, folded up figure stood out in the cold air, their face being blustered against the bitter merciless wind of the night as they stared upwards

Upwards, towards the moon. It sat, round and bolted in the sky with a great sneering obnoxious face against it, the wispy white glow delicate, yet enough to blind someone who looked for too long.

“It's been a while,” the figure said, their voice gruff.

“It certainly has,” the moon replied, it's voice was round sounding and mellow and nothing like what anyone would think that the moon would sound like.

“They're coming, aren't they?”

“That's up to you,” the moon said, before pausing slightly as though doubling back on it's words, “well, it will happen, but it's up to you whether or not it happens in a way that keeps everyone alive.”

“Depends what you mean by 'everyone',” the figure stated, voice as cold as the wind and not about to give in to the way the moon spoke. Like most moons, he spoke in riddles and never gave enough information – of course, in their defence, it would be enough if you were smart.

“I mean everyone, not just you're family, but theirs and everyone that ever cared about anyone.”

The figure rolled their eyes, pursing their chapped crinkled lips, “then it will be up to me. And I will make the right decisions.”

“We shall see,” the moon said, before ceasing and returning to what – as far as anyone else was concerned – a normal moon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on The Peculiar: we are introduced to a rather strange family, and an untimely visitor arrives


	2. you faked your death for three years

The family were gathered around the so-called mysteriously ancient oak table, in their creaking chairs that rattled as you sat on them due to none of the legs being the same length. Three apparent adults, four that considered themselves adults and three that were dependent on the rest. Nanna Peculiar, the first. Her daughter and the mother figure of the family, Marlyn. The husband and definitely not figure father of the table, Kyleson. Then, of course, five of their children – seven altogether – who were sat peering either at them, or at the food.

As usual, Nanna Peculiar sat at the top of the table, her chair slightly bigger then the others – mainly because of the unspoken words that she was too short to see over the table in a normal chair instead of the fact that she was in charge. Curled up grey hair still in rollers, with watery blue pig-like eyes, beady and unblinking. Sagging wrinkles across her forehead that made her permanently frown and a stubby body with long thin bony fingers that were completely out of place; large chested and fat stomached and hunch backed, she was enough to put you off meeting the rest of the family and she wasn't even the worst.

“Shall we bother saying grace?” she groaned in her gravelly yet wispy tone, one you didn't hear on most little old ladies.

“We don't most days,” Mother muttered before adding in a more perky tone, “excellent idea mum,” she – despite certain obvious genetic features – looked completely different from her own mother. With a swept back mane of hazel hair that reminded the whole family of the fierce lion spirit that she held inside, along with sharp spiteful blue eyes that didn't seem at all motherly. Her frame, long and slender and lean, was encased with a tight fitting, stainless white blazer and trousers, her nails sharp and pointed and yet her fingers soft and rounded, holding her knife and fork in a dainty fashion.

“I ain't saying grace. We never have and never will, so what good will it do?” Father spat, sniffing deeply in protest with his broadened nostrils flaring. Mother, from across the table, shot him a forgiving glare with a simple nod of the head in Nanna's direction, put him straight. He pushed himself up in the chair, sitting his slouched back up straight, “but sure. Why not?” he said reluctantly. His hair slick back and lumpy, a jet black with a slight curl that reminded most people of Dracula – which was ironic in a way. Lanky and broad-shouldered with narrowed captivating green eyes and a squared jawline with a squashed down nose. Fat lips that smacked as he ground down whatever Nanna had made up for dinner between pointed jaggered teeth – sharpened every morning for reasons that were best left unmentioned. Skin a dark chestnut colour.

“Who wants to start?” Mother asked cheerfully, clasping her hands together in a way that spirited everyone’s curiosity. Not once – and especially not at Dinner Time – had the whole family seen Mother this happy.

“Perhaps Nanna should,” Gracie suggested weakly with a Gracie-kind-of-shrug. Her body thinner then Mother's with slim curled shoulders and waist and figure. Draping down dark brown hair that shrouded half her pale face in hair, the other in shadow, teal blue eyes glistened back and looked as though at any moment she was about to burst down into tears. She was eldest of the youngest generation of the Peculiar family, her weak, twig-like shape was covered in a dark black sweater that looked like possibly one of the itchiest things that could exist, her skin was a pale white as though she never went outside. Even the twins weren't that fond of her, and they were fond of everyone.

“Why do we have to speak about Gracie?” one of them – Iden – asked now. They were identical, wearing matching shaven close to the surface dark brown hair that never seemed to grow and chubby shaped faces with squared jawlines and protruding chins and wonky smiles. Dark skin like their Father and pale hazel eyes like their Father, but personalities to match their Mother – demanding and easily annoyed when they didn't get what they want, but fiercely loyal. The only difference between them was a small old scar running down the eyebrow of Iden from the time that JJ had pushed him out of a tree.

“Mum and Dad and Nanna always talk about Gracie, let's talk about Maxwell instead,” Aiden – the other twin – added smiling proudly. The youngest of the family however was Red, she was curled up in a crib upstairs somewhere though, her small generic baby features peaceful for once and not wrinkled up whilst wailing for food.

Maxwell coughed awkwardly, “not Gracie, _grace_ you idiots. It's where you talk to this thing called God that none of us _actually_ believe in,” he was the second oldest, turning 19 in three weeks time and not letting anyone forget it, and was practically the spitting image of his father. A slanted forehead and thick eyebrows like caterpillars on his face above his dark blue eyes that were narrowed and thundery as usual. Puberty had not been kind to this 'offspring' of theirs.

“You doesn't need to be believe in a God, Maxwell,” Nanna said sternly, staring at him with one of her eyes whilst the other was carefully watching his father with a hint of curiosity, “as long as you're grateful for something, you can say it.”

“Can we not just _eat_?” JJ let out a beg, he was next oldest, after the twins, and before Luna – who, as usual, did not turn up for Dinner Time – he looked nothing like the rest of the family, which was curious for them all. He had bright sparky blue eyes full of life and excitement towards everything, with frizzy matted blonde hair that bounced and shook as he spoke rather enthusiastically about anything to anyone who would listen. His chubby cheeked, hamster toothed and _normal_ looking face was rather off-putting to the rest of the family, but much more inviting then the rest of the family to anyone who wasn't related.

“No you ungrateful child,” Father growled, baring his teeth as he did, causing JJ to sink into his chair placing his fork back down onto his plate, “we say grace.” He earned a smile from mother and seemed far too proud of himself because of it.

“What does saying grace even require?” asked Maxwell, his jawline clenched and eyes narrowed and brow furrowed further then usual.

“Well,” Nanna said, smacking her lips together in an irritable fashion, “you put your hands together,” she gestured this action, Mother and Father following suit, urging the reluctant children to join in, “and you close your eyes, and speak,” there was pause, and then she continued, “Dear... God. We hope you're as well as we are, we've recently moved, so thank you for letting us move. And for letting us find a good house that will hold all of our torture mechanisms and still leave room for extra purchases-”

“Mum!” Mother hissed, the twins and JJ giggled to each other, sitting around the opposite end of the table to the adults – JJ in the middle, the twins either side.

Nanna chuckled wickedly as well, rolling her eyes at her daughters skittish behaviour, “I'm kidding, but I _would_ be grateful for that. Let's eat.”

JJ dug in straight away, along with Maxwell and Father who began tearing off chunks of the meat from whatever bird it was that they'd hunted from their hands. Mother raised an eyebrow at them both before furrowing them both as she looked at her own parent once again, “mum,” she said sternly, as though talking to a child rather then the one who had raised her, “did you want to say grace just so you could remind our kids of our...” she trailed off, chewing for the right words, “otherwise unlawful occupations?”

Nanna winked as she ripped off a wing from the roasted bird in the middle of the table that was sitting patiently, “once an assassin, always an assassin, Marlyn, no changing that.”

“I changed,” Mother hissed in return, eyes darting round her family, taking them in with their aggressive subnormal eating and grimaced.

“You've killed people, by choice,” Nanna said pointedly, not bothering to keep her voice low under the sound of the frantic talking of the twins and the grinding of teeth against bones from the rest of the family. Gracie was sucking at the bare bones that were laid across her plate and no-one ever really knew where the food went so fast, “don't forget that.”

“I don't want my kids to grow up the same way I did,” she scolded, causing Nanna to look up at her with a blink.

“You think I didn't raise you well?”

“Yeah, because finding a dead body in your kitchen whilst going to get milk in the middle of the night is being well raised,” Mother snapped, an air of finality about her tone. Nanna opened and closed her mouth several times as though daring herself to speak before leaving it shut, muttering to herself in her mind no doubt. Mother let out a sigh of air through her nose before glancing up towards her husband, “Kyleson,” she whispered across to him.

He froze, glancing up at her with trickles of blood and juice from the rawer parts of the bird dribbling rather _attractively_ down his chin as he did, eyes wide with shock, she let out another sigh as he wiped it away on the back of his hand and recomposed himself in his chair, “what is it?”

“Did you....” she trailed off, biting her bottom lip in thought while he cocked his head to one side, being bashed by Maxwell's elbows from beside him where he bite a hunk of the bird away with a rip of his teeth, throwing his head to one side just to tear the fat apart, “call.... them?”

His eyes widened for a second, before adjusting and he nodded curtly, talking in a stiff voice, “naturally.”

“And?” she asked urgently.

“I got the job.”

She raised an eyebrow at this, which would almost be offending if he didn't see it from her point of view, “without _torturing_ it out of them?” she said the word as though it was poison in her mouth, which was odd, as 20 years ago the word would have caused her to jump to her feet and seize the opportunity.

“Without torturing it out of them,” he reassured, stretching a beefy hand across the table towards her to cup her own, “you wanted a fresh start, this is it.” She gave him a thankful smile, small and innocent seeming, before she tugged away her hand from his and began to eat herself. Nanna had watched this event take place, watching with furrowed eyebrows her daughter's reactions.

“So, uh, I was wondering,” Gracie began carefully, causing all eyes around the table to shoot up to her, taken back and widened at her sudden decision to speak, “when will we be, you know, starting school?”

Mother opened her mouth, the sound that was preparing to come out cut off by Nanna who snorted heavily, “sorry? School? You're home-schooled, it's how it's always been. Marlyn – I mean, your _mother_ – can teach you just fine.”

“That's uh, something we haven't yet discussed mum,” Mother interjected, placing her knife and fork irritatingly neatly against the plate, her bloodied meat left untouched compared to the, well, mess, left on everyone else’s, “there are changes in that department too.”

“You've got to be kidding me,” Nanna grumbled under her breath, laying her forehead against the palm of her hand where it rest by her elbow on the table.

“No, mum, we moved for a reason. For a fresh start as it were.” she began, smiling fondly round at her children, all of which were covered with blood stains running down their chins and widened immersed eyes, “which means everything changes.”

“Even dinner?” Iden mumbled sadly, causing JJ and Aiden's eyes to flash widely.

“I'm not becoming a vegetarian!” the other twin wailed defeatedly.

Father let out a hearty chuckle, “God no, little 'uns, we're definitely still eating the freshly caught meat me and Maxwell get.” Maxwell gave a sloppy grin and the sound of this and the twins beamed, seemingly satisfied with that answer while Gracie flicked at one of the bones left on her plate grimacing a little as though the idea less then pleased her.

Mother, however, cleared her throat, sharply yet somewhat politely, catching Father's eyes hurriedly, a little like a rabbit caught in the headlights if it wasn't for his towering height, “well, yes, you can still _catch_ things, but it'll be from more.... sophisticated measures now. Supermarkets for instance.” At this Maxwell dropped the bones from his hands down onto the plate with a heavily defeated clatter as he threw his arms back in annoyance.

“We're not going to act like... like _them_!” he hissed, gesturing out away from the kitchen.

“We certainly are,” Mother snapped, silence her son at once, her eyes flashing menacingly, “this is a _new start_ ,” she growled, glaring at all of her children, then her husband, then her mother – the only one who tutted under the gaze rather then shuddering with fear - “we are going to treat it that way, which means being as normal as possible.”

“Honey, we've moved into a castle, we can't exactly be subtle about-” Father started.

“Silence!” she roared, her eyes switching from blue to a bright amber, her fiery stare locking Father in place, his mouth slamming shut instantly. Iden and Aiden whimpered a little, arms clinging onto Gracie and JJ either side of them. She then calmed herself, presenting an even scarier composed smile that was almost kind to the unknowing eyes, “now, as I said, we're not going to complain about being _normal_ , because we are a perfectly normal family. We are new to town, our past doesn't matter. We will buy normal meals from normal supermarkets and we will turn over a new leaf, there will be no more messy dinners, no more home-schooling so you don't go near other normal people, because we are just as normal as they are. And,” she said pointedly, turning directly towards Nanna Peculiar who had been tutting a lot during this speech, “we will not remind our grandchildren about life before. In fact, we will not at all mention life before-”

She was cut off by a loud, ringing sound that struck them all through the chest causing a piercing silence to fall over them all.

“That was the doorbell,” Father eventually whispered fearfully, glancing amongst the children, almost expecting to pass the responsibilities over to them.

“Do you think it's our new neighbours?” Maxwell breathed, eyes wide and fearful.

Gracie shuddered, glancing across at her younger brother, “do you think it's the mail-man?”

“We've never had a mail-man before,” JJ murmured, staring out of the dining room towards the front door resting in front of them.

There was the sound of a bark of laughter, as another silhouette passed the dining room doorway, making their way towards the front door, “it's not a mail-man or neighbours, it's worse,” Luna added ominously. With her darkened skin matching Father's with dark hazel eyes but smoothed skin and high cheekbones like Mother's, she'd honestly ended up the most 'attractive' – by social standards – of the family. Her hair was a short mess against her head with a floppy fringe hanging down as side-swept bangs, the back short against her neck, barely reaching her jawline. She almost looked _human_.

She swung the door open, grinning wide as she did in a snarl that to any others would be off-putting, but to the man stood the other side of the door, he simply return it with a playful growl of his own, before cheering out, “Luna! There's my favourite niece! Taking right after your uncle, your fangs are getting very long.”

Luna laughed at this, giving him a slight bow, “sharpen them every morning.”

“Huh, you start sharpening them at night too, just before bed, helps them keep in place, after all, night time is the-”

“Best time,” Luna finished, causing them both to chuckle, “yes, I know.”

By now Mother had scrambled to her feet, clenching her fists by her sides and not caring as her nails broke flesh beneath them, standing frozen in the dining room doorway, staring towards the front door where the only person who could possibly silence her was standing. Her brother-in-law. Kingsley Strange.

He stood tall and thin and stretched out, with a long drooping face, and a crooked back as he attempted to fit underneath the doorway. Dark skin with dark eyes that were almost black, and the edges of his own fangs poking out the edge of his mouth. With a horse like neck and a lanky figure he stooped to even just about fit under the doorway, “Marlyn!” he began enthusiastically in a voice that could melt butter – or, in Mother's hope, melt her face off so she didn't have to stand here and have this conversation - “how have you-” he was cut off as the top of his forehead whacked hard against the top of the door-frame in a heavy knock, causing Luna to wince and him to laugh half-heartedly. He pulled away, ducking underneath this time – luckily the hallway spiralled up two floors with an open balcony staircase and landing, so ducking would not be an necessity here.

“How have you been? It's been so long,” reaching out to put his arms around her in a hug she was cut off by her sharp tone, seemingly finally finding her voice.

“Three years.”

He lowered his arms, letting out a sheepish grin, “yeah, sorry 'bout that. But I'm here now right! Hi kids!” he peered around Mother to the kitchen where Iden and Aiden were jumping animatedly out of their seats and charging into the hallway, wrapping tiny hugs around their uncle's legs determinedly.

“Uncle Kingsley!” cheered Iden.

“Your back!” finished Aiden. Not that they were the type of twins who usually did that, it seemed whenever another family member arrived, that wasn't as immediate as the ones they grew up with, innocent smiles and cute cliché twin-like behaviour was their go-to.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm back,” Kingsley said, giving them both ruffled heads of hair with his arms that seemed to stretch long enough to sit against their heads without him bending over slightly. Gracie appeared in the doorway too know, Maxwell with his arms folded behind her.

“They're too young to remember aren't they,” Maxwell inputted, sniffing smartly and glancing at Mother, who nodded meekly.

“They remember him though,” Gracie said with a Gracie-kind-of-shrug. They were both shoved briskly out of the way as Nanna Peculiar pushed through with the walking stick she didn't really need, but used to get her way, before she froze beside Marlyn, placed her stick on the ground and a gave a proud smile.

“So you did it,” she smiled sweetly – an expression that did not suit her otherwise sour demeanour - “I knew you could.”

Kingsley shuffled uncomfortably under her unblinking gaze, causing the twins to let go of his legs and step away from him, “did _what_ Grandma?”

“Came back from the dead of course!” she jived, grinning ear-to-ear and almost looking as though it would tear her skin apart, “I always knew _someone_ in our family had the gift and finally we've been blessed, just because it wasn't that cursed husband of mine doesn't mean I have to be disappointed, the Peculiar's have the ability to defeat death and step away unscathed, if slightly taller then before. Which – considering my daughter married an 'average' height man – isn't exactly bad news to say the least and-”

“You faked your death for three years.” Marlyn whispered, a voice so sharp it could cut through the air, her eyes gently burning the same amber colour as before and her fists clenched so tightly by her sides her knuckles blanched white.

Kingsley froze at this, one finger in the air as though attempting to correct her, “well, yes but-”

“I stood there, _we_ all stood there, as your body was lowered in that coffin six feet under the ground because you'd apparently always said that growing up you wanted a proper funeral. We all stood there as the rain poured down because Chelsea wouldn't stop crying, we all stood there as my boys clung to my legs confused and asking what had happened to you, we all stood there as Kyleson, the man who was seen as the strongest, broke down in tears as he shook hands with the vicar. We stood there and we thought you were dead,” the words sat there in the area, drowning the family in the weight of them, Father still not daring to leave his seat and JJ behind Gracie and Maxwell, their bodies blocking the way.

“He did die-” Nanna Peculiar began swiftly as seconds of the silence passed, “he managed to defeat death and-”

“No Mum, he didn't!” Mother roared angrily in return, silencing her own mother instantly and causing the twins to whimper as they did before, “he left us all there to think he was dead before running away like the coward that he is and not letting his family help him! How dare you think you can just turn up here! How dare you think you'd be invited with welcome arms!”

“I need a place to stay,” he interrupted, her eyes flashed dangerously and he rushed through the rest of his words, not daring to meet her eyes as he did, “just for one night, that's all it'll be. Riley already knows what happened to me, she's fine with it. The kids are a little pi-” he stopped himself, glancing down at the twins who were staring with big eyes, “annoyed but that's understandable. Just please? One night, you won't notice me. I'll sleep in the attic if I have to.”

Nanna Peculiar tutted loudly, “that attic is not for guests.”

Mother folded her arms, “did it not occur to you that I might be annoyed too?”

“Lord, this place has really gone to the dogs,” Nanna Peculiar continued, muttering dismissively under her breath and she crept back past Gracie and Maxwell into the dining room, “I'll let you deal with this one darling, you seem to be handling it just fine,” she called back over her shoulder to her daughter who was not listening at all.

“Yes, yes it occurred to me,” Kingsley winced, “but I figured that now I'm here, you won't really have a choice,” a low growl began in Mother's throat, “I mean, I can pay you, any money you need, any equipment-”

“We don't need any  _ money, _ we don't need any  _ equipment _ ,” she snapped, “that's not who we are anymore, so leave right now and never ever show you face here ag-”

“Marlyn!” she was cut off, causing her mouth to slam shut and for her to spin furiously towards the dining room doorway where Father was stood, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed lowly as he glanced between his wife and brother, “he is family. And maybe with your new start you can change our lifestyle or the food we eat, or even the clothes were wear. But he's family. You're not changing that.” Mother opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish before stomping her foot a little like a stroppy teenager, before disappearing towards the dining room, the sound of clattering plates telling the rest of the family that she was 'tidying' – she only cleared anything up when she was angry, she usually left it for Gracie and Maxwell who the job was forced onto when they turned 16.

“Kyle, thank you,” Kingsley began breathlessly, before being muted by a raised hand.

“I'm angry with you too, but just, you can stay. One night, if that's all you need,” Kingsley nodded at this, eyes glancing to the rest of the kids. Luna seemingly unphased by the whole event was leaning against the wall picking at her nails. The twins had taken to grasping onto Gracie's leg – who seemed to be shaking more then they were. Maxwell held his body stiff and awkward, as though trying to imitate Father's stance but not get involved in the fight. And JJ was pointing desperately upstairs where, whilst only he could hear, very faintly, Red had began crying.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on The Peculiar: trying to be normal with this family will never go off without a hitch


	3. been out feasting on neighbours

Gracie Peculiar woke to the feeling of a heavy shaking at her side, and a harsh hushed whisper, “wake up, you need to get up!” Her eyes opened blearily, wincing and squinting instantly under a bright light of a flickering flame being held near her face. Luna was stooped over the bed, face half shrouded in the shadow of the night and half aglow with the candle and sconce she held in her hands.

“What's going on?” she asked lamely, raising herself to a sitting position and rubbing her eyes, watching as other shadows moved in the darkness, stood and listening against the walls, her own seemed to be rather interested, “what's happening?”

“We have a crisis on our hands,” Luna murmured darkly, the sound of shuffling and tripping told her that Iden and Aiden were also in the room.

Gracie frowned a little, “crisis? Luna it's like two in the morning, what could possibly be happening?” Luna tutted at the sound of this, the twins repeating the sound between them, giggling a little under their breaths as they did.

“It's Uncle Kingsley, you heard what mum said, his supposed to be dead,” she hurried onwards, perching herself on the bed across Gracie's legs and not caring for the protests. Iden and Aiden's faces were lit up in the darkness too, almost looking ominous compared to there otherwise personalities.

“No, mum said he faked his death,” Gracie corrected, rearranging her pillows hastily behind her and propping herself up, the candle was lowered to the bedside table and Luna sat up, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her feet on the exposed bed-frame from the slightly too thin mattress.

“That's not the point Grace,” Luna inputted stiffly, eyes widening a little, “the point is that it means someone happened that needed him to pretend to be dead. And now his turned up here, what if whatever it was has found him again, what if he brings it here?”

Gracie let out a slight sigh as Iden and Aiden in-took gasps on their own, grasping each others hands tightly, “I say you read too many books and want this move to be an adventure rather then a boring adjustment to normal life. I want to go to university, you and JJ will be going to the secondary school near here and Maxwell will attend the sixth form and who really knows what the twins are going to do. We're going to be normal, Uncle Kingsley untimely arrival will be simply a little hitch and-”

Luna let out a long pointed yawn, interrupting Gracie who promptly closed her mouth, staring down at the bedsheets with a face that almost, almost looked as though she was seething, “you sound like mum. No-one wants to go to boring schools and learn normal things. I wanna find out what mum and dad are hiding all the time.”

“Mother and Father don't hide anything,” Gracie said rigidly, glancing between Luna and the twins and watching herself lose the battle. No way would the twins think what she was saying was correct – although it was – when Luna spent all her time filling them with wild imaginings.

“C'mon Grace, you can't seriously forget what happened when we were young. Remember when I was like 5 and you were 11 and we watched out the window as mum and dad dragged a body into the basement through the front door,” her voice turned into a dark mystery tone, turning towards the twins in a dramatic way, telling stories as she always did, “They spent the rest of the day cleaning up the blood and not letting us down the stairs.”

“Yes, then it turned out it was simply a carcass of our next meal that they had caught,” Gracie interjected. Luna however rolled her eyes, turning back towards the twins.

“That's another thing, what kind of family catches their own meals, and teaches their children to sharpen their teeth?”

Gracie took her turn to roll her eyes, “you love sharpening your teeth, and like Mother said, we're getting things from supermarkets now, not from fields.”

“There is something strange about us,” Luna continued, blatantly ignoring Gracie at this point, the twins her captive audience, “something different, and someone somewhere has found out, whether through Uncle Kingsley or even through mum, so we now have to go into hiding and change who were are so no-one can tell.”

“If we had to go into hiding we wouldn't have chosen a giant castle on the top of a hill,” Gracie snapped, tiredness catching up with her as her younger, obviously delusional sister was smothered in the eerie glow of the candle light that had been getting closer and closer to her face as Luna crept closer.

“A giant _sentient_ castle,” Luna disrupted, glaring pointedly.

“What's sentient?” Iden whispered, leaning against Aiden.

“Mummy says it means alive,” Aiden replied.

“Alive?”

“Yes, it means alive, but no the castle is not _sentient_ ,” Gracie said matter-of-factly, sniffing a little as she did, “it's an old house, all old houses creak and groan.”

“Then how come on the first night we got here my room was replaced with the bathroom? Like the rooms had moved around?” she cried out, a little louder then the rest of the room expected, throwing about the candle even further towards Gracie's face.

“I'm going to need you to lower that before you say anything else.”

“Her voice or the candle?” Iden asked, causing Aiden to snort and the two of them began to giggle into each other.

“Both,” Gracie hissed, “some of us are trying to sleep.”

“I don't see anyone sleeping here,” Luna growled in return, “this is serious Grace, take it that way.”

“Little made up stories aren't serious, they're a load of rubbish and this is exactly what mum is talking about. We need to be normal, act normal. This,” she said, gesturing heavily around both Luna and the twins, “isn't normal. Waking up in the middle of the night, with a candle for a 'sibling meeting' to tell made up stories that are very obviously fake.”

“Oh my god, Gracie, why do you believe everything mum and dad tell you? Parents aren't always right, you know?!” Luna's fist around the candle began shaking with anger, fingers blanching heavily, sharpened canines gritting together between words, “they have been lying to us for a really long time, you need to except that!”

“And you need to accept that you can't go around making things up expecting to get away with it! You're not five years old anymore, you can't pretend to see things that aren't there just because you want them to be!”

“We're different, there's something different about us!”

“There is nothing special about us! Nothing! Never is, never will be! We're just a bunch of freaks!” Gracie screamed out, the covers thrown off her by now and the candle flickering urgently against all the shouting, the twins had fallen silent by now, watching timidly from behind their clasped together hands, sweat sticking them together. Luna's anger raced from her eyes, her face softening and her mouth turning down.

“Freaks?” she repeated, her voice small, “we're all just freaks.”

“Luna, I-” Gracie started, before slamming her mouth closed again, “just let me go to bed. Please. I'm so tired, we have school tomorrow.”

“It's a Sunday,” Luna hissed, the last of her energy leaving her as she grabbed Iden roughly by the arm, dragging him back out of the room, Aiden following blindly through his grasp on Iden's hand. The door slammed the last of the candle light disappeared from view, throwing the room into darkness. The shadows cast on the wall almost glaring down disappointedly at Gracie, who curled up, drawing the thick covers of her bed closer, whimpering a little against them. It's safe to say no-one got much sleep that night.

 

The morning came far too slowly, the sunrise lighting up Maxwell's room through his faded, threading curtains as he growled against the rays of light, throwing an arm over his face to block it. The smells in the room weren't right, they didn't smell like the old house, they were overpowering and chemical and shrouding his senses. 

He huffed against the covers, throwing them off him and letting the cold air settle around his skin, shrugging it off. Slipping out of the bed, bare feet against the floor, door creaking open on it's own as though the house wanted him to hear the commotion downstairs – he wouldn't be surprised if it was, according to Luna, the house liked him the most; he was the only one who complimented the idea of moving rooms.

“What the hell do you mean he left last night?” Mother was screaming, the house shuddering against it, he could picture his father wincing and Nanna tutting and rolling her eyes. JJ in the bedroom next to him was shuffling around buried under his own covers, kicking around every so often, as though attempting to block the sound.

“I mean, I checked the attic, and he was gone,” Father mumbled back, “maybe he got hungry, he travelled pretty far.”

“Hungry? What and you think it's OK that his possibly been out feasting on our neighbours?!” she roared back, eyes probably glowing, and perhaps the closest piece of paper setting alight nearby – it wouldn't be the first time.

“Please, Marlyn, one of the kids could hear.” Father continued, keeping calmness creeping throughout his tone. 

“Sod the kids, right now; we've got bigger problems.” she growled in return, causing him to fall silent in return. Then a flash of bright white light up Maxwell's room through the window facing out towards the town, and the sound of the front door creaking open caused even the house itself to suck in a breath of panic as they waited for another round of screaming.

“Kyleson, please, help,” came a weak croak in return, the house tuning in the whole families hearing onto the single noise. Before a load thud sounded, as though a body hit the floor. At this Maxwell dove out of his room, following a rushing Gracie, half-way tying her dressing gown around her – black like the rest of her clothes – and JJ who was scrambling and stumbling down after them. They paused at the bottom of the stairs facing the front door, the cold sweeping wind blowing through, and there, collapsed against the slowly blood-stained wooden floorboards, was Uncle Kingsley.

“Holy-” Maxwell cut himself off, remembering that JJ was stood beside him, eyes as wide as saucers, with twin gasps coming from him and Gracie, taking in the scene. Their Father was crouched down beside the body, two fingers resting against his throat before visible relief seeped through his body – Maxwell's following in reply.

“His alive, just hurt, badly,” he said, letting out a heavy breath, running a hand through his hair, glancing at where Nanna was stood in the hallway of the kitchen, shaking her head in almost annoyance.

“Alright kids,” she grunted, “put yourself to use, clear a space on the table, and Maxwell, sort out your mother, she listens to you.” she limped forwards, passing through to the dining room, ushering through Gracie and JJ – and now Luna who had reached the stairs, looking rather bedraggled and sleep-deprived. Maxwell nodded numbly, moving the to the kitchen, where he saw Mother, glaring down at the half-washed pot in her hand over the sink, the basin filled with soap that was overflowing down the edge of the cabinets.

“I'm fine,” she snapped, “just a little annoyed.”

“Your cleaning, mother,” he said pointedly, “you don't clean unless your angry.”

Then was a pause, then a burst of breath, “I'm not angry,” she whispered weakly, “I'm just- how would you feel? We're starting a new life, a normal life, then you're very not normal brother-in-law appears, disappears overnight then comes back bleeding all over your new floorboards. I mean,” she laughed deliriously to herself, “what on earth is the estate agent going to think?”

At this words she froze, eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights and panic racing through her – Maxwell could smell it in the air, his mother's fear had a very distinct smell, and he would join the panic whenever he smelt it, she wasn't someone who got scared, “mum?” he offered, before being cut off by a flurry of movement. Dishes being washed at the speed even he couldn't keep track off before every single plate of last night was dunked on the drying board and the tea-towel was soaked in bubbles, she zipped past him, hair flicking against his face.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she was muttering over and over again, “Kyleson! Oh god, Kyleson, please! Take him to the attic, he can't be in here! Luna, clean the blood quick, JJ, Gracie, if your beds aren't made just throw them away, oh my god!”

Maxwell raced after her, catching her in the middle of the dining room doorway, staring dead at the scene before her; her daughters – except the one that wasn't yet a year old – holding down a man who was mumbling nonsensically to himself as her mother pulled out with her bare had a three inch piece of glance from that same man's chest cavity. Her husband was stood in the corner, shaking and barely holding in any of his early breakfast.

“Mum?” Maxwell tried again, “what estate agent?”

“The real estate agent, last night, I was so angry that I forgot to tell you all that he was coming. We haven't actually brought the house yet, but we couldn't stay in New Light any longer then we already did because-” she seemed to stop herself, “he will be here around 10, it will take us so long to clean the blood, take him upstairs, he can't stain anything else, if we keep him out of even one room, he will kick us out, he will suspect us of smuggling or whatever it is that normal criminals do!” her breathing was ragged and terrible, but even worse was the constant groaning of Uncle Kingsley against the dining room table, his struggling easily pined down by Gracie and Luna, and the glass easing out of his skin, slick and coated in blood, that dripped carelessly across the rest of the table that wasn't already stained. He let out a wretched scream as the pain coursed from him and the metallic smell overwhelmed Maxwell causing him to retch a little and turn away. 

Luna tutted at the sound, “the men in this family, honestly. It's not like you haven't seen any of this before.”

“N-no, but before it w-wasn't my, my b-b-brother,” Father choked out between trying to cover his mouth with his hands.

“Oh no, if you're sick in here, I will have to clean that up too. Maxwell, Kyleson, get out, right now, get outside if you have to,” Mother barked, her panic seeming to die down as her 'clear' head took over and orders came flowing out.

“But, who, who do you think did this to him?” Maxwell asked weakly, causing everyone else to glance up at him, worry flooding their expressions.

 

Iden and Aiden were still in their room, blissfully unaware to anything that was happening downstairs, curled up in their twin beds – not the bunks they'd been promised before the move, but the small bats they had flittering above them about the ceiling made up for it. Gracie's and Red's rooms were either side of theirs, but the house seemed to understand that perhaps letting the youngest and most impressionable witness what was going on downstairs wasn't the best idea. So two rooms had perfect sound-proofing at this current second, while every other room had a direct broadcast to what was happening.

The twins were currently surrounded by those very bats, giggling as they spun around and danced before them, clapping gleefully when any of them came close enough to get a single stroke against their tufty fur, their wings practically see-through and their small clawed fingers affectionately ruffling both of their bedheads as they swooped down. There was about five of them, nesting up in the attic, but the hole broken in the middle of the twins ceiling – where perhaps a giant chandelier that collapsed down should have been – allowed them to flitter in and out of the room as they pleased.

“Look, look, it's the fat one!” Aiden cheered, reaching up, bouncing on his creaking mattress, to grab it out of the air. It gave him a snarly grin and flew a little higher, wings causing a mess of air to blow against the twin's face.

“But look at the smallest,” Iden cooed, holding one up in his arms, the wings curling around it's body and it hung upside-down off his elbow, almost purring and sending tickling vibrations all the way through him.

“I want one to hang off my arm!” Aiden moaned loudly, and, as though understanding, one of the bats stooped down lower until it was perched against the top of his head, causing a course of giggles of be released from both of the twins, shaking both the bats off them as they collapsed against their beds in the series of laughter, arms wiggling stupidly in the air, legs kicking about. It was more theatrical then necessary, but the bats – nor the house – seemed to mind. Perhaps they liked the distraction to what else was happening in the world.

“I think we should name them,” Aiden concluded, as the giggles finally died down. 

Iden looked thoughtful for a few seconds, before saying rather seriously, “this one's Batty.” the bat – however – looked rather off-put by the generic and rather unimaginative name it had been given.

“No, no, we should name them something cooler, like Flame, or Spark,” Aiden began excitedly.

“Or Nanna,” Iden interjected, causing both of them to cascade into laugh, the bat's seeming to join in this time with small barely audible chirps of their own.

“I like Spark, or Solar, or Wolverine,” Aiden continued, when they'd, once again, finished their laughter, “or Storm, or Jet, or Midnight, or... or.... or,” he trailed off, distracted as one of the larger bats landed down into his hands, allowing him a scratch it against the head much to it's enjoyment.

“What about Eden? For the one in your hands?” Iden offered, “like our names. Iden, Aiden and Eden?”

The bat let out a loud purr that echoed about the room at the sound of it, causing Aiden to giggle softly, the feel of vibrations from the small animals chest tickling his hand, “I think she likes that name.”

“She?” Iden frowned, crossing his arms, “why does it have to be girl?”

“It doesn't _have_ to be, you named it Eden, that's a girly name.” Aiden said pointedly.

“Alright then, it's a boy,” Iden said gleefully, “and what makes a name girly anyway?” Aiden cocked his head to one side, as though thinking about this very seriously, before shrugging and grinning at his brother.

“Hi, Eden,” he said down to the bat, who glanced up at the two of them in turn, “welcome to the team, we're the cool ones of the family, no matter what JJ says.”

“JJ thinks we're cool anyway,” Iden interrupted.

“Yeah, well, he probably thinks his cooler.”

“Yeah, but his just a, just a...”

“A poopy pants!”

“Yeah! Like Nanna!” like that, the two of them were giggling hysterically once more, Eden being bounced up and down at the feel off it.

At this their bedroom door creaked open to a rather green looking Father, to which they both settled down sharing guilty looks and the rest of the bats hurriedly swooped back up through the hole, Eden attempting to too, but being stopped by Aiden's' grip around him. Father let out a short chuckle, looking between the two of them, then down to the bat in Aiden's hand.

“Made a new friend have you?” he asked them.

“Father, Eden, Eden, Father,” the bat seemed to give Father a nod of respect, but it could have been that he was struggling against Aiden's grip, and Father returned the look humbly.

“You guys, uh, you need to get ready if that's OK, and remind me to fix that,” he said, gesturing up to the gapping hole in the ceiling causing the twins' look of happiness of fall straight off their faces.

“But how will Eden get to us?” they cried out, barely phased by how they managed to share the words and Father only a little tilted.

“With a bat that likes you that much, they'll find a way, don't worry,” he gave them both reassuring, or as reassuring as he could with large – currently unsharpened and slightly lop-sided – fangs. He then let out a heavy sigh, perching on the edge of Aiden's bed; he had the bed closest to the door, “I need to tell you that, there is a possibility a lot of things, that seem bad, are going to happen. But it's important not to get worried, or upset, we just needed to pull through it. I, uh, I just wanted to let you know that a man is coming today, and his going to look in your room, but I'm going to need to you be as... _normal_ as possible,” he said it as though the word was unfamiliar in his mouth, and he didn't want it to even have the chance to get familiar either.

“Normal?” Iden echoed, frowning softly.

“Yeah, _normal_ , if that's OK?” Father tried, looking hopefully between his two sons, who caught each other's eyes having a conversation with looks.

“Just for one day,” Aiden said finally, causing a breath of release from Father, and him to give them both a wanly smile, tickling Eden against the head for extra measures, before climbing back towards the door again, picking his way over the scattered collection of toys the twins had already made for themselves – stuffed animals used as plushes as they were taken off decorations from the shelves, and loose floorboards chiselled down to become trains or soldiers or cars, one of them even a wonky dog-shape. He creaked the door open ahead of him and gestured for the both of the twins to go outside. Aiden released Eden who happily quivered back up through the hole in the ceiling, met by a chorus of cheerful chirps and him and Iden jumped off their beds, lumbering through the doorway and out into the hall, the banisters of the stairs just about thin enough to stop them from dropping through.

“OK, let's go. Bathroom, both of you, we all need a wash,” Father instructed, leading the way. It took them about five times from the house to finally allow the room with the metal tub to show itself – it had replaced Gracie's room this time.

 

Flint Greenwood, a 16 year old who almost prided himself of his families ability to remain as normal as possible. Their alarm waking them all up at 7:30 like every morning. His black skinned features, with bold nostrils and slanted cheek bones and dark brown eyes with a short mess of dreadlocks sitting on his head – currently in the shape of a mop in his half-alseep state. Like every morning, his mum would wake him up by the pushing the door open, carrying a tray of pancakes and orange juice to greet him, with the same apron he brought her for Christmas almost five years ago tied around her front. Except instead, he was awoken half an hour early by a horrifying scream from his mother and sound of a smashing plate. He winced against his pillow – that was his mother's best china no doubt, the same plate she used every morning for his regular, normal pancakes, ruined. She'd probably seen a spider, and with their father working nights, he would have to deal with it.

He let out a soft groan, before sluggishly chucking the covers off of himself, his rather blue-walled room staring back at him pointedly. He slipped on faded grey rabbit slippers, his boxer-and-t-shirt pyjama combo allowing the cold of bite at him, and he mumbled half-heartedly out of his now opened bedroom room, “how big is it?”

He thudded down the stairs, each step heavier then the last in his half sleeping state. Turning to the kitchen, where no doubt his mother was overreacting to a black pinprick on the wall with eight small legs that was 'looking at her', what he didn't expect was to see his father, holding up his mother's favourite tea towel filled with ice to a fast bruising eye as he finished up a mumbled story he'd been telling.

“I know, darling, but, he came out of nowhere, I don't think he stole anything, just crashed through the shed window in a panic to get away and accidentally kicked me as he did, but it seems to the blood on the pane as though he took it worse off then I did,” his father continued, short shaved head with dark skin and heavy-lidded eyes. His mother with her short messy curls and her, of course, gingerbread man apron wrapped around her waist stood, fists clenching and unclenching by her sides.

“What did he take?”

“Like I said, I don't think he took anything.”

“But what on Earth was he doing if he wasn't stealing?” his mother began fretting, causing him to rush forwards and hold her arms steal as she glanced panicked up at him, “oh, Flint, you weren't supposed to here any of that.”

“It's fine, what happened? A man broke in?” Flint put two-and-two together in his mind, his father swallowing heavily as he looked up at their son. It's fine, he thought to himself, plenty of houses in the town got burgled, his friend Leah got robbed just the other day, it was normal.

“Sort of, I think he was homeless, looking for a place to sleep, I must have left the gate open last night, and he took his chance,” his father tried, causing his mother to whimper and desperately look out of the window to where the shed was at the end of their quaint little garden, their flowerbeds torn up a little – it was usually squirrel's or foxes that did that, not man-sized foot prints. 

“Actually,” Flint tried clearing his throat, but another lump got in the way, “I think I left the gate open.” 

His father frowned, “what on Earth were you doing with the gate? You didn't go out last night.”

“No, but, uh, a friend came round.”

His mother's eyes widened at the sound of it, her clutch on his arms growing tighter, “is it that Leah, or was it Smith, it has to be one of them right, you would tell us if there was someone else in your life, of course you would, you wouldn't hide something like dating or... or more, from us, would you?” her words spilled out over the kitchen table against the newspapers with the suddenly distracting headlines of: STRANGE FAMILY MOVES INTO ABANDONED CASTLE WITHOUT WARNING. “Flint?!” his mother let out a strangled cry, “you're partner's not using our house to store drugs are they? They're not a drug addict, you wouldn't date a drug addict!”

“No mum!” Flint let himself cry out, slightly offended himself, “No mum, I wouldn't do that. And no, me and Leah are just friends, and Smith, yeah his cute, but we're too close for any of that.”

“Fine, right, of course, sorry, must be a little shaken up,” his mother said dismissively, releasing her son from her 'death grip' and turning to lift the pieces of broken china from the floor – Flint had been right, it was his favourite plate.

“Uh, Kiera,” his father inputted softly, quiet as he watched the previous scene take place, wincing a little as he readjusted the sodden towel against his face, “you don't think it's got something to do with this new family do you? The ones who moved in randomly a few days ago?”

His mother froze on the spot, cutting her finger against the edge of the sharpened china in her fumbling, “course not,” she hissed, a little too quickly, “no, no, what business would they have with us?”

Flint frowned, his eyes flickering back to the headlines, the photo below showing a blurry shot of a family, of what looked about 7 members, carrying boxes into the house from a stranger hearse-looking car that didn't look at all as though it would fit them all. He shook his head hurriedly, he was overthinking this entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on The Peculiar: a rather normal guest arrives and breakdowns insue


	4. have some tea and toast

Mr David Richards was a stout balding man, with a pug-like nose and small beady eyes behind his extremely well-polished half-moon specticals. His tie stained with that morning's porridge in his hurried wake up; he'd slept through two alarms.

He'd then driven half way across town, then the whole way up Harrington Hill to Harrington Castle, a place that was left abandoned about 10 years ago since locals attempted to turn it into a museum to 'spice up' the dreary backdrop of the town. Production was called off after the place allegedly burnt down, but with only 5 witnesses and the rest of the town waking up to find the castle just the same as it had always been, people turned to the dysfunctional explanation of the supernatural and the place had been untouched since.

“And now, this,” he muttered angrily to himself, pressing his many chins against his chest rather precisely, before pushing back the edge of his blazer sleeve and glancing down at the small watch tied around his wrist. The minute hand ticked over to 10 and instantly he raised a stubby-fingered hand to the door-knocker – a strange lion-like shape with an almost humanoid face, something he found rather off-putting and reminded him far too much of Halloween. One, two, three.

There was a panicked shriek from the other side of the door causing his eyes to widen, before the door it's self creaked open to reveal a sweaty looking tall woman with a mane of hazel hair and a crisp white blazer and trouser combo, with high heels and rubber gloves on both her hands, a bucket filled with water and a sponge slapped against the floor sat beside her.

“Hello, you must be Ms Peculiar? My name is Mr Richards, here for Miracle Real Estate,” he checked his watch once more, before plucking out a small red notebook and matching pen from his own blazer pocket and scrawled down a few rough-hand notes that he pretended to look over and then nod in what he hoped was professionally, “I will doing an inspection of your new, ahem, house, and taking my notes back to the bank and Miracle to test whether or not we will offer you a mortgage.”

“I, uh, yes, thank you,” the woman before him straightened her composure, before thrusting out a hand for him, to which he grimaced at the sodden rubber glove that covered that very hand. Letting a short bark of nervous laughter, she slipped the gloves off, throwing them both into the bucket of water, “please,” she tried again, offering a hand to shake, “call me Marlyn.”

Mr Richards place a hesitant hand into hers and the shake was strong – if not a little shaky, he mentally noted - “if you don't mind, I'd like to keep this strictly professional. I am here for a rather important reason.” at the sound of reminding himself this he pushed out his chest rather proudly, as though trying to convince himself more then her. Ms Peculiar nodded slightly, before pushing the door further open and offering him in.

He took a step inside, his pristine, recently polished, designer, Italian shoes squeaking as he did so, before freezing at the second step, sceptical of placing it on the strange darkened red patch across the floorboards. He glanced up, frowning with his caterpillar eyebrows, at Ms Peculiar who let out a small nervous chuckle behind her hands she was holding up against her mouth.

“May I ask what this dark stain is?” he offered, turning a loud page in his notebook and poising his pen above the so-far clean paper.

“Um,” Ms Peculiar's eyes widened in size profusely, before she shook her head dismissively, “it's just... I was just.... doing a bit off... PAINTING,” she came to hurried conclusion, “and uh, one of the kids knocked the tin over. Yeah.”

Mr Richards cocked his head to one side a little, eyes running over the very much untouched by paint walls, before returning his gaze to Ms Peculiar, who was shaking a lot more then perhaps humanly possible, “Red, for the hallway? A little ghastly, don't you think?” he said, stepping sophisticatedly over the stain, allowing a breath second of relief to rush through the only other person in the room.

“I think, it uh, would bring out the personality of the family. Rather, uh, regal?” she tried, bumping into her own bucket of slightly red-stained water in her wake and struggling to catch it before it fell. Mr Richards gave her a small look, but said nothing, and jotted his thoughts into the notebook instead.

He positioned himself in the first doorway to the left of the main door, turning back to Ms Peculiar with the pointed look, “a tour would be nice.”

She seemed to perk up at this, jumping a little and nodding enthusiastically, “of course, this is living room, or lounge, or whatever you wish to call it, the uh, kids should be in there.” He nodded thusly and pushed hard on the door, as though to catch whatever was inside off guard. He instead saw a set of three plush, leather sofas positioned about the room, a hug bearskin rug slapped in the middle and a old timely TV with the aerial coming out of the squared set itself – a static, black and white, version of the news was playing with no attention being paid to it. Across the sofa's was at least 5 kids, two of them sprawled across the rug with small wooden soldiers in their hands as they spoke to each other in strange voices that Mr Richards guessed only toddlers amongst each other could understand.

“The rug,” he said, gesturing to it with his pen, “is it a real bear?”

Ms Peculiar once more froze up for a split second, “oh, um, no? No, no, of course not. I mean, we brought it.... at an.... AUCTION! Yes, my husband is very big on those.” Mr Richards seemed too distracted with writing something into his notes to notice JJ and Luna snorting into their hands in an attempt to keep the giggling down.

“Your husband? Does he have a job, I'm aware you've already told the company you are currently unemployed?” Mr Richards continued, flicking between some of his pages.

“Uh, yes, he has a job, working in an office, near London. We uh, _I_ didn't want to get a job without knowing we were permanent, as I would want to work locally,” Ms Peculiar seemed much more comfortable talking about something a lot more solidified with an answer.

“Right,” Mr Richards said, dragging out each letter as he mouthed each word he wrote on his notebook. He then slammed it shut hurriedly, looking expectantly up at her, “lead the way then, I assume we will make our way around the downstairs before heading up? Unless there is something else you wish to show me?”

Ms Peculiar gave him a lopsided look for a second, as though what he'd said was floating around her head as she tried to make sense of it, before rather seriously shaking her head and gesturing out the doorway. Mr Richards gave a portly nod before stooping past her and out into the hall once more, turning up his nose at the dried up 'paint', behind him Ms Peculiar offered a sharp look to her children, before plastering a smile on her face and joining him, “the dining room?” she offered, and he nodded wilfully.

In this room was a long table, with 10 chairs perched all around the edge of it, a particularly tall one at the very end. A stuffed buck head with long stretching antlers leant over the mantelpiece of a bricked in fireplace, and the walls covered with small oil paintings of what looked like members of the family, set up a little like a family tree, stretching all the way back to ones made up of possibly mud and grass for hair. He let out a little huff at this, wondering how on Earth they could have unpacked quite so fast to create a perfect family tree with no signs of nails being out of place. On the table were platters of toast and egg and bacon, with cartons of orange juice with the labels peeled off and cereal boxes with no declarable brand due to a mass of crayons covering up most of the outside of it. Two men sat in chairs beside each other, offering unphased smiles to them as they entered. Yet the smiles were more like snarls, with teeth that almost resembled fangs and likeliness between them that chilled him to his bones. Mr Richards did not like things being out of the ordinary, especially not this out of it.

“This is my husband, Kyleson, and our eldest son, Maxwell,” Ms Peculiar said, the two of them standing up in turn.

“Mr and Master Peculiar, of course,” Mr Richards inputted, giving her a stern look over his half-moon glasses. He glanced about the table briefly, before dropping to a crab like position and staring underneath it, eyes squinted and ready to pierce the soul of any ruffian or criminal they were trying to smuggle into the town. It was still a possibility of that being the case, of course. Simple 'wackiness' of a family wouldn't change the chance of being criminal masterminds. 

He rose from under the table, nodded once at all three members of the family in the room with him, before scribbling in his notebook, and turning back to Ms Peculiar, who let out a short unexpected squeak, turned and lead the way to the next room – the kitchen.

In here, the first thing to strike him, was the high-chair perched in the corner, with small giggling child sat inside it, clapping hands and smiling widely at the sight of both of them, but mainly their mother. With a bright green, almost leaf-like shirt shrouding it's tiny form and a bowl of splatter about mash that was almost covering most of the walls and cabinets. The kitchen was built surprisingly small compared to the rest of the castle's rooms, but he supposed all those years ago the servants wouldn't of had the luxury of a large kitchen. A heavy wooden door with large hinges lead out to what he guessed was the remains of a washed down garden that was perhaps beautiful in it's day, if not now hindered due to the relentless rain of that previous summer.

“How many, uh, kids did you say you had?” Mr Richards asked, rearranged his tie against his collar almost nervously. Ms Peculiar gave him a sideways glance, as though thinking in her head – perhaps even counting them.

“Seven, at this current moment, little Red here is our youngest. Adorable isn't she?” Ms Peculiar begins, cooing as she picks the spoon out of her daughters bowl of muck, raising it to her mouth and feeding her, making odd insistent noises as she does.

Mr Richards cleared his throat noiselessly, before nodding stiffly, “uh, yes, of course, adorable,” he strained, as though the word would not be something he would use in this situation. Ms Peculiar however seemed not to notice at all, shoving the mush into the small human's mouth, smiling as the small human ate the gloop on the spoon and cleaning up the small human's chin where most of the gloop had ended up with a small wad of tissue left on the side of the high-chair.

“I didn't even think I'd end up having this many kids,” Ms Peculiar continued, oblivious to the discomfort that Mr Richards was obviously facing. He nodded along, eyes flickering back and forth between the small human and the door, “I suppose I never realised I wanted so many until I met the right person you know? I love them all, even if they irritate me to no end-” Mr Richards couldn't seem to keep his head in a right enough position to follow track of the words falling out of Ms Peculiar's mouth. It wasn't that he didn't like kids, just that the smaller ones had a lot of responsibilities surrounding them; no matter what they did there is was chance they'd be tarnished by the world outside of their small human bubbles.

The small human currently in the high chair seemed now distracted from the food being aimlessly shoved towards it's face every three seconds, their small soft blue eyes and paled skin and wide cheeks focused in hard concentration on Mr Richards himself – who let out a short squeak realising that the small human had caught him staring. The child knew now, they knew everything about Mr Richards and would grow up forever knowing. He knew he was being rather paranoid, but he couldn't help it, they were staring. Staring hard.

“So what's going to happen if you, uh, don't like how we live?” Ms Peculiar asked suddenly, snapping him out of his trance of staring at her daughter in half-fear.

He composed himself a little, “hopefully, we won't have to come to that,” he said importantly, before softening his look a little tiny bit, as he was _not_ an empathetic person, “but, uh, I suppose you might be kicked out of the house.”

“What?!” Ms Peculiar choked out, “but, all my kids, where are they going to stay?”

Mr Richards was not at all comfortable with this situation, he was hear to monitor, not offer life advice to those who had a chance of losing their, illegally acquired but still, recently acquired home, “You must have been aware they'd be consequences to turning up randomly and expecting to be allowed, especially in one of our tourist attractions.”

“We were told that it wasn't an attraction anymore, that it was empty and no-one would mind,” she tried, looking a little lost, ignoring as her daughter attempted to eat at the spoon that was being waved around as she spoke.

“And who told you that?” Mr Richards asked, letting the usual accusing tone creep back into his voice with comfort at the familiarity of it.

“My sister,” she said with ease, staring him down, as though daring him to stand against that. He shook his hands back in a gesture of surrender, before rubbing one of them against the back of his neck.

“I'm not here to interrogate, simply look around and jot notes of everything I believe could be seen as something that would change whether or not you had a chance of getting a mortgage,” Mr Richards explained, careful with his phrasing.

“And we could end up... on the streets?” she asked again, frowning softly in a way that didn't particularly suit her features.

“I, um, don't you have relatives you could stay with?” Mr Richards tried, not really feeling a position to offer life advice to someone whose house he was inspecting and hoping he could get them kicked out for a chance of a raise.

Ms Peculiar let out a soft chuckle, glancing upwards and almost rolling her eyes before remembering where she was, “uh, no, our family aren't as close as you would think. Not my side anyway. But Kyleson's-” she caught Mr Richards look, “sorry, my husband's side is much closer... too close some could say.”

At this, the side of a spoon with a dollop of gloop was shoved straight into Red's cheek, in Ms Peculiar's distraction, covering them in the sloppy cold texture. At first their eyes fell, the concentration leaving the small human's features, their eyebrows turning downwards in the centre. Then their mouth tilted, no longer bubbling with entertained laughter. Then their was a whimper – but Mr Richards wasn't really sure who in the room it came from, him, the baby, or Ms Peculiar: who had just jumped back and slammed her hand over her mouth.

Then, the sobbing started, tears running hard and fast, then wailing, loud and screaming and ear-splitting. Louder and louder until it was pounding around his head over and over, echoing off the inside walls of his skull. Then, he noticed that the gloop was beginning to move itself out of the bowl into small chunks, raising and floating, causing his eyes to widen and his notebook to drop to the floor. The chunks of gloop threw themselves outwards splattering against the wall beside Mr Richards, coating over his blazer and trousers, the kitchen cabinets and Ms Peculiar's crisp white blazer jumpsuit. She however, barely flinched, giving a small nervous laugh as she wiped it off her cheek, and said, in a rather stiff voice, “silly Red, throwing her food around.”

“B-but... but...” Mr Richards struggled against the wonderment, awe and fear clogging up his throat. But the small human wasn't done. The wailing got louder, as though her point hadn't been made yet, and the cupboard doors began opening around the door, slamming shut and creaking open, the drawers opening and spoons clawing their way out. Forks and knives jumping up onto the counter, throwing themselves against the walls surrounding Mr Richards' shape and leaving an outline. Ms Peculiar was very insistently ignoring the spoons combing through her mane of hair, ruffling it further and whacking against her face. The huge back-door's lock then raised the door swinging open and a heavy gust of freezing air sweeping through the room blowing the gloop off the walls once more and causing Mr Richards' jacket to swing back from him and his eyes to dry up and water. 

The small human still wasn't done and with one last high-pitched scream the kitchen door swung open and the taps ripped off their tops and water exploded about the room, soaking everyone but little Red who seemed suddenly as unphased as ever. 

Mr Richard's, frozen in place let his eyes turn to Ms Peculiar – soaked, covered in gloop and with now uninitiated spoons curled inside her hair, “I... I.... I...” She gave a slight frowning grimace that looked as though she was trying far to hard to create the emotion in her features.

“Are you okay, Mr Richards?” she said woodenly, “you seem, uh, UNWELL!” The sound of stifled sniggering came from the kitchen doorway where Mr Peculiar had suddenly appeared, Mr Richards spun to see him, where he suddenly looked rather solemn hurriedly, mouth slammed shut and a frown on his features in concern.

“Um....” he glanced back towards the small human. He couldn't have possibly imagined all of that, could he? He felt the stickiness of the gloop and the water, he still felt it, the spoons were still in Ms Peculiar's hair, she was still covered in water too. The floorboards and rug soaked, the cupboard doors left open, the back-door letting in a freezing blustering breeze. But, no-one else seemed to react to it. Had that small human _made_ him see it?

“Would you like to sit down? Have some tea and toast, warmth might make you feel better?” Mr Peculiar offered, seeming a lot more at ease with the situation then the half-panicked Ms Peculiar, not that Mr Richards noticed any of that.

He instead gave a forced nod, and attempted to take a step. Mr Peculiar gave a glare over his shoulder towards his wife who shrugged with a silent scream on her features. Red however, gave a small giggle at the exchange and proceeded to smash her hand into the gloop left in her bowl. 

The second the two other figures left the room, she slammed the door shut hurriedly, letting out a heavy sigh, pulling spoons out of her soaked hair and letting them clang against the floor carelessly. She then moved to shut the other door, locking the cold out of the room finally and allowing herself to shiver against the feel of it. She turned to her daughter who looked as sheepish as a 18-months-old's features could, and let herself smile a little too. This situation was ridiculously, and they were perhaps never gonna be a normal family. She let herself let out a small choked sob, slamming a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, letting her eyes close defeatedly. Red gave her a sideways look.

 

Nanna Peculiar gave a grunt of derision as she noticed the bucket of bloodied water sitting beside the great castle doors, tutting a little to herself. She had hoped to be the reason the first splotches of blood hit the brand new wooden floorboards, not her careless son-in-law's brother who was now hogging the attic away from her. 

She teetered around the floorboards, ready to grab an unstable hand against the banister and make her way heavily up the stairs when she heard that very distinct sound. Crying. More specifically; her daughter crying. A sound she'd raised up to 37 years of age and now rarely ever heard. Would it be wrong as a mother for her to say she missed the times her daughter would crawl up onto her lap crying and need to be shushed and tell Nanna all about it while she cooked up the dinner for that night – her no-good husband off doing who knows what to who knows who.

Giving a little roll of her eyes, with a creak, she moved her foot off the first step and lumbered towards the kitchen doorway, where she was greeted by the sight of her latest grand-daughter giving her a small two fingered wave with a gurgling smile on her face before gesturing vaguely and with baby-like understanding over to where Marlyn Peculiar was crouched desperately over the sink, hoping the sound of her knocking the taps together as though fixing them would help drown out her sobs as her hand clung over her mouth to muffle them.

“I once tried to be normal,” Nanna Peculiar said to no-one in particular, scooping the remnants of Red's gloopy food out of her bowl with a new spoon that had been left in the draw and placing them expertly straight into the baby's mouth, “I was about 15 and there was some boy I really liked, probably a loser, mouth-breathing idiot, but still, I was young. And also an idiot,”

The cluttering noise of the taps slowed down a little, showing that her daughter as listening.

“I dressed in the ridiculous clothes that were called modern fashion, had horribly itchy make-up and curled my hair until I looked a little like a sheep. You haven't seen many pictures of teenage me – that's because I burnt them all – but let me tell you, I was certainly not an attractive sheep. I took after my father, your grandfather, and he had the kind of face that Kyleson does, you know,” she could feel her daughter's glare from here and rolled her eyes, “that _doesn't_ look at all as though it was inherited from the monsters that once roamed this Earth. Never mind that, the point is, I changed so much, hiding my powers, hiding my bear-traps, forgetting to bring my potions of school, all of that stuff. Turns out he still thought I was a freak because he began dating the normalest dullest girl you can imagine who cheated on him in about a week – that was only because I cursed him of course but-”

“You really took potions to school? Like _Harry Potter_ styled ones?” her daughter finally spoke up, voice croaky but alive with the sound of a softly amused smile.

“Of course I did, Draught of Death was one of my favourites,” Nanna Peculiar chuckled to herself, causing Marlyn to let out a short bark of laughter too, scaring all of them a little, “of course even classic fictional tales such as the magnificent works by _J.K. Rowling_ are too normal for our family.”

Marlyn pushed her hair back out of her eyes and placed the piece of tap back inside the sink, letting out a short sigh, “yeah, of course it is, it's us.” she said it so defeatedly, as though she'd already given up with the family that Nanna Peculiar had worked too darn hard on.

“None of that,” she grunted awkwardly, dropping the spoon back into the now empty bowl of baby gloop, Red gurgled happily, reaching out with two grabbing hands towards her grandmother desperately, “none of that giving up business. Your father did the same a look where he ended up, sad, drunken and gone within a week.”

Marlyn snorted softly, “it was more then a week mum, you just never saw the change in him over all those years, you saw him the same.”

Nanna Peculiar scoffed, lifting Red out of the high chair and placing her against her hip, tickling her stomach gently, “Because he was always an idiot,”

“Because you always loved him.” Marlyn corrected. Nanna Peculiar shook her head stiffly, but uncertainly, perhaps as though it was a fact she was trying to dismiss, place at the bottom of the list of facts she was ashamed about for thinking, “we have a _normal_ human in our dining room right now, with my husband and eldest son, probably attempting to talk to him about fishing or something and failing miserably, his probably far too shaken about what his just seen. God, do you think he'll ever believe that what happened was 'all in his head'?”

“Course not,” Nanna Peculiar chortled, “that's the beauty of it, we can just help him forget what he saw.”

“No,” Marlyn said sharply, giving a glare to her mother, who tutted in reply – it wasn't the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, that her somewhat otherwise ideas were dismissed by her daughter – “we're not doing that kind of thing anymore. We're just not.”

“Well then, looks like another of you son's is going to deal with the situation,” Nanna Peculiar said, eyes glancing off to the wall leading to the dining room thoughtfully, causing Marlyn's to widen and her hands scramble for the door, “honestly, calm down, nothings going to happen.”

“If it's the twins they'll give us away, if it's JJ he'll do something stupid.”

“You don't want to hear who it is then,” Nanna Peculiar said pointedly, before indicating with her head towards the door as a 'get on with it' notion.

 

Mr David Richards could still feel his skin crawling, his chair at the end of the table that he'd been forced down into too high, so as his knee shook subconsciously he continued to almost topple off the sides of it. The plates seemed normal enough, the toast tasted normal enough, the tea – if slightly too sweet – was perfectly hot and welcoming. But the two people sitting in the seats to the left of him, gnashing down on the crusts of bread with what almost appeared to be sharpened fangs, sloppily wiping their mouths on the back of their wrists and eagerly reaching for a drink that was almost reddish in colour, were what was setting him on edge; they were not at all normal.

“W-what was the drink your having again?” he said, voice betraying the panic inside as his finger shuddered against the slice he attempted to hold throwing crumbs everywhere.

“Oh, it's just orange juice,” Mr Peculiar said, giving a slight unnerving grin, offering out a little, “want some?”

“Uh, no, just uh, curious about the colour,”

He noticed as the eldest son paled a little at this, sniffing the air a little like a dog, before Mr Peculiar whacked him hard and pointedly on the arm, indicating hurriedly towards Mr Richards who felt himself blanch in return. The son rubbed his arm with a glare pointed at his father, before awkwardly grumbling, “yeah, it's blood orange.”

“Blood?” Mr Richards repeated, suddenly struggling to swallow the lump of cold toast stuck in his throat.

“Yes,” Mr Peculiar seemed to form the word heavily around his mouth, “they make blood oranges in China, we had some juice imported, you can get it from a variety of great supermarkets nearby.” Mr Richards couldn't shake the feeling that most of that was rather rehearsed. He didn't have the time to dwell on those thoughts however, as a small tug against his blazer sleeve caused him to look down at the young, about 12 year old boy who was stood beside his chair – looking shorter then usual due to the height the chair was at.

The boy looked dramatically different to the rest of the family, much more normal, less animalistic and much more human, like the normal boys he saw in town. Mr Richards would almost say he felt relieved, until, of course, the boy began to speak.

“Your the estate agent, aren't you?” his voice was riddled with ardent curiosity, and the sharp glower he received from Mr Peculiar set Mr Richards on edge. What godforsaken event would happen next? He needed a pay-rise after this, deserved one almost, “what _is_ an estate agent? Is it like a secret agent? Like MI17?”

“JJ,” Mr Peculiar growled gently, almost in a calming tone, a warning tone.

“Um,” said Mr Richards, eyes flicking between JJ and Mr Peculiar hurriedly.

“Do you have superpowers? Or a secret weapon? Like a laser pointer? Do you know what laser stands for? It's actually an acronym,” the young boy continued, obliviously.

“Please, JJ, I'm warning you,” Mr Peculiar continued, the growl at the back of his throat getting louder.

“It means Light Amplification,”

“JJ!”

“by Stimulated Emission,”

“JJ. Stop it now!”

“of Radiation,”

“STOP! YOU STUPID CHILD!” the roar echoed out of Mr Peculiar throat, his face beating red while the aforementioned 'stupid child' whimpered softly, clutching onto the sleeve he'd been previously tugging. There was a heavy ragged breathing, the eldest son grasping tightly onto the edge of his plate, the china almost cracking underneath his blanching knuckles. Mr Richards let out a slow hiss through his gritted teeth, his bones shaking inside of him, frozen in place. Paralysed by fear. Mr Peculiar let out a soft breath, almost a sigh, running a hand through his hair and it flopping back into place hurriedly, “I'm sorry, Mr Richards, for losing my temper. And for my idiot son.”

“I- I, uh....” Mr Richards squawked out, his voice stuck somewhere deep in his throat, cowering and refusing to come out.

“Sorry dad,” came a soft muffled voice from his blazer sleeve, where half the small child's face was now hidden underneath it.

“Let go of his arm,” Mr Peculiar ordered in return, voice stiff as though trying to hold the volume level was taking all of his determination. The child dropped the sleeve immediately, taking a rather dramatic step back from Mr Richards. The door then swung heavily open, slamming against the wall as the hinges creaked – Mr Richards and the boy jumped in fear, the eldest son snapping off a little of his plate in the process, dropping the shard amongst the toast crumbs rather grumpily against the situation that just occurred.

“What on earth just happened?” Ms Peculiar hissed, her voice as cold as ice, eyes glowering a bright burning amber that, when Mr Richards blinked, seemed to fade away after a few seconds – as though he'd just imagined it again. 

“JJ,” Mr Peculiar said spitefully, giving a glare to the child, “was insistently irritating our guest, and wouldn't stop, I had to do something.” this seemed to almost satisfy Ms Peculiar, or at least calm some of the emotion she was showing on her face, cheeks sizzling red with dying anger.

“Right,” she said, her voice balancing itself out

“I've apologised, so has JJ.”

She nodded, “that's good,” there was a pause and then, “Mr Richards, do you wish to continue your tour? Check everything is in working order?” It was only now he noticed a small stout, fat old lady standing behind her, with a folded in face and silvery hair still in rollers. Upon her noticing his insistent staring, she handed him a look of contempt, before tutting and muttering under her breath as she lumbered off away from the door, “that is my mother. She's also staying with us.”

“Uh, yes. So there are ten people in the house?” Mr Richards tried, finally figuring out what to do with himself and removing his notebook once more from his pocket, clicking down the pen – not at all noticing the panicked exchange of looks between Mr and Ms Peculiar, nor the spark of fascination alighting JJ's face as he took in the pen.

“Yes, just ten,” Mr Peculiar said.

“Absolutely. ONLY TEN. I mean,” Ms Peculiar giggled nervously under her breath, “just ten people.” Mr Richards scribbled this very professionally into his notepad, before flipping onto the next page and dropping to the floor out of his seat, shoes squeaking a little as they hit the floor, the newness not quite worn-in yet. They were a rather odd family, he would give them that, but he couldn't exactly write down their quirkiness as a reason for eviction.

He scrambled out the doorway, already hearing Mr Peculiar begin grumbling in a ever-growing volume of voice at his poor son, following Ms Peculiar out through the kitchen, passing the same old lady, who gave them both a look of disregard and grumbled, “better not get used to having my chair.” Mr Richards immediately sped up walking, wishing not to have another confrontation with yet another member of this oddball family. Ms Peculiar obliviously continued walking, or, if she had noticed, choose to ignore her mother's chanting, and gestured up towards the stairs once they were back in the hall.

“Me first?” Mr Richards asked under his breath, connecting a shuddering hand to the banister, one step after another up the stairs as he went. The stairs creaked and groaned and cried out under his weight, Ms Peculiar walking up the other side of the stairs only added to that equation as they let out a shout of pain. Mr Richards froze against the edge of the stairs, his vice-grip on the railing so tight he felt he was glued onto it, “did the stairs just scream?”

“NO!” Ms Peculiar cried out, covering out the stairs next shriek of pain, “No, no, no, it was probably just... ONE OF THE KIDS!” she tried, kicking her foot hard against the stair she was standing on as she did to the sound of a soft sob. Mr Richards stiffened at the sound.

“It's not your youngest again, is it?”

“No, Red? She's asleep upstairs again.” Ms Peculiar said dismissively, much more comfortable yet again on the subject of her children.

“Oh,” Mr Richards said, “I, uh, no, never mind, it's not my place to pry.”

At the sound of this, panic seeped back into her voice, “no, no, no, what is it? Please, feel free to complain, anything normal and perfectly valid that can be perfected and made better and more normal for you will be done. Pry away, please.”

“I,” Mr Richards stopped as they reached the top of the stairs, the landing seeming normal enough, with three doors before him and the rest of the corridor stretching behind the next set of stairs, with three more doors leading behind it, “I just, wonder, about your kids...” he trailed off, not really sure what do say. How to explain it. He'd never really wanted to talk to anyone about something this dramatic today. 

“What is it? Are they not normal enough? I can make them normal, you wait,” Ms Peculiar fretted, reaching towards the door in the middle of the hall, about to swing it open with determination in her eyes.

“No, it's uh, nothing. Their great,” he said, attempting to give a smile, that came out more as a grimace as his top lip struck to his teeth. However, Ms Peculiar's look softened entirely until she was grinning rather widely.

“Really? Wow, thank you,” she blushed a little at the sound of it, re-arranging her hair distractedly, “honestly. I put so much work into raising them I feel like no-one really appreciates it, so, thank you.” Mr Richards nodded stiffly – so much for keeping things as professional as possible, “uh, this room is the twins room, their my youngest, other then little Red you saw earlier. It's going through, uh, repairs at the moment so might be a little dusty.” 

The door creaked open and inside, was not a bedroom of any sorts. It was a small broom cupboard. An old mop sitting in a bucket of lime-scaled water leans against the wall solemnly and several cobwebs take up the space across the ceiling and back wall shrouded in darkness.

“Oh, I, must of FORGOTTEN my way around, we've not been here for long, not as though the rooms are MOVING AROUND!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on The Peculiar; a certain brother-in-law is getting interrogated


End file.
